


Domestic Bliss

by Johnlock_Baggins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:33:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4307001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlock_Baggins/pseuds/Johnlock_Baggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Domestic Bliss is set post season 3, a series of events unfold and John finds himself moving back to 221b to behold a side of Sherlock he had no idea existed and in fact never imagined did exsist.. the discovery causes a side to awaken in John he wasn’t prepared for either...</p><p>Enjoy !</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back to Baker Street

The flat was quiet as John set down the last box in the kitchen. How little he owned; a duffle bag on the floor and five small boxes sat on the table, which didn’t even disrupt Sherlock’s experiment. Good thing too, it smelled of gasoline, and experience told him there was a fair chance of a small explosion if tampered with. He took in the state of the room as he headed into the living room; the fridge was empty except a few Tupperware full of what he could only assume were body fluids, the sink full of every tea cup they owned. ‘They?’ he questioned himself. Yes, well he supposed the term applied to the two men once again now. The thought created a twist in his gut and a sudden intake of a shaky breath. Closing his eyes he braced himself leaning over the counter.

After several long weeks of therapy, he realized it wasn’t working for him, not that it ever did, and so he made the decision to go back to Baker Street. After all Sherlock had put him back together once before, his logic was sound. He tried to shift his attention, telling himself “You don’t need to go through this all again.” Looking up he saw an empty biscuit box on the counter. Did that man eat anything else? A weak smile crossed his face as he chuckled “Sherlock Holmes, genius fueled by tea and biscuits” to the empty room. He wondered if he should put that on his blog, maybe they would start getting free samples from their fans. 

Moving around his chair and wandering over to the window, he lightly plucked a string on the violin as he passed it. So much time had gone by since he was routinely woken up at all hours by the sound of it. Smiling, he recalled his roommate's ongoing experiment to determine all the possible ways in which to annoy John until he got out of bed and the times Sherlock had used the violin to achieve that goal. There had been no experiments while living with Mary. Mary. He got stuck on the name as if it had been a roadblock in his thoughts. He put a hand out to hold the window frame. Staring out to the street below John could see Mrs. Hudson getting out of a cab with several bags of shopping. Grateful for a distraction from his thoughts he quickly ran down to open the door and relieve her of the bundles. 

“Oh thank you dear” his landlady said as he took the bags from her “How’s the move going?” 

“All done, everything’s upstairs” he replied, thinking of the small pile of his belongings in the kitchen. “Didn’t take long” they moved through the hallway into her kitchen. Setting the bags on the table John suddenly felt hungry seeing the food inside of them. Or was it being back in this house? How long had it been since he had eaten? He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt properly hungry and not just forcing something down for sustenance. 

“John? Are you all right?” He looked up from the bags to his landlady as she continued “why don’t I fix you something? I bought your favorites, I’m not your housekeeper mind, but just this once seeing how I knew what you’d be coming back to in that fridge” eyes darting to the ceiling and then rolling before she turned on her stovetop and got to preparing a meal. They ate and John listened to her tell him all about her hip and the hallway repainting among other trivialities. She had just finished a rather detailed description of the new butcher at the shop when his phones text alert sounded off. 

It was from Mike Stamford:  
Leaky Cauldron 8pm, first round’s on me

John looked at his watch, 6:45. He’d have enough time for a much needed shower. He excused himself from Mrs. Hudson’s ramblings, thanking her for the meal then responded to Mike:  
Make mine a double, been a tough day. See you there.

Back in his flat it occurred to him most of his wash needed doing and was crumpled in the duffle bag. He sighed and hoped that unlike the teacups Sherlock had managed to wash some towels. Throwing the bag over his shoulder he grabbed the two boxes that were for his bedroom and headed upstairs. The room was exactly as he had left it, even clean. No dust or stale air to account for the passage of time. Even the sheets had the crispness of being freshly washed when he put his things on the bed. “Not our housekeeper indeed” John thought as he started unpacking. Alarm clock, laptop, chargers, and some photographs in frames he set about the room and the first box was nearly empty. The second box he knew was closet contents that he could bother to empty another time so would just toss it in there for now. Opening the door he found much to his surprise a laundered shirt and jumper hanging. He tried to figure out how they had gotten here. Examining the jumper he noticed four tiny holes in the cuff of the right sleeve, then matching burn stains on the shirt and he remembered; corrosives experiment splattered on his shirt and Sherlock had responded by quickly removing both of John’s shirts before the fluid burned his skin. It had been such a small amount and never gotten through the second layer of fabric. It had seemed so silly to John that Sherlock stripped him so quickly and then would not let him have his shirts back. He was a doctor after all; he could take care of his own skin. But Sherlock was insistent that John put something else on. He had assumed the scientist had disposed of his clothes and choked them up to casualties of science. Yet here they were. And clean of all things. Mrs. Hudson must have found them in the bin and tended to them he reasoned. Though why she never would have given them to him in all this time he did not wonder, he was simply thankful for a clean shirt to put on after his shower. He dumped the contents of his duffel bag into the hamper, picked out his last fresh pair of pants and trousers and headed off to the bath. 

He grabbed his bathroom box on his way past the kitchen and unpacked that in the time it took the water to get hot. He was amazed to find the cupboard full of fresh towels. Mrs. Hudson really had gone out of her way to help his transition back to Baker Street. John slipped out of his trousers and pants as the room started to steam up around him. Pulling off his jumper it occurred to him he could just leave his clothes here on the floor in the bathroom, no one would say anything. Mary hated finding the clothes on the floor after he bathed. He sighed as he unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the pile. How long would it be until he could move through his routine without thinking about her? Unstrapping his watch he caught the time. 7:30 already? Shit. He picked up his phone:  


Sorry mike unpacking and all that make it 8:30?  
Hitting send, he climbed into the shower. 

The water was quite hot at first, but he quickly acclimated to it. For a while he simply stood there feeling it run across his body. Warming his skin as it traveled down his chest and back, ‘I could stand here forever’ he thought. A text alert tone brought him out of the trance of the hot steamy environment. ‘Oh drat. That’ll be Mike, right. Get a move on then.’ He found the shampoo. 

Drying off, the towel felt so soft. The feeling as it ran across his skin soaking up the moisture sent waves of comfort through him causing him to take a great deal longer drying off then required. A familiar smell filled his nostrils as he did so. Mary had an allergy to this fabric softener, but it was always his favorite. He simply loved his clothes smelling and feeling this way and no other brand quite did the same job. He marveled at how strong a reaction he was having over fabric softener. He supposed he really missed the stuff and never realized it. He breathed it in deeply as he dried his face then wrapped the towel around his waist. He caught his reflection as the room started to defog. He examined himself, flexed a bit. ‘God being married did a number on me; I’ve got to start working out again’ ran through his head as he made a mental note to start tomorrow with some pushups and maybe a run. Text alert. “Oh crap Mike, damn where is my head today?” he scolded himself as he picked up his phone and opened the first message.  
It wasn’t Mike:  


I hope the condition in which you found your bedroom is satisfactory. I know you do not share my appreciation of dust. –SH

John stared at the phone, rereading it three, then four times. ‘I don’t understand. Is he saying.. Does that mean Sherlock cleaned my room?’ puzzled he remembered the second alert and that Mike was in fact waiting for him.  
He opened the second text:  


I bought the fabric softener you requested I use; I don’t expect you would notice as ever you see, but do not observe. It is in the freezer, experimenting with temperature on fragrances. Be back at Baker Street in 2 days –SH

This text sent his mind twisting around faster than the first. He ran his hand slowly down his thigh taking in the sensation of the soft fabric on his palm as he gaped at the words on his screen. Sherlock had cleaned his room and done wash with his favorite fabric softener. This was a rather unexpected bit of information and he didn’t know what to do with it, much less how to respond. 

A third text alert was Mike:  
I’m here now, having a bite. No rush, there’s a band.  


John dressed quickly, grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

The Leaky Cauldron was a fan pub; it was opened in the last six months and was an instant hit and center of activity in London. Its familiar themed decorations and menu attracted the fanatic and tourists alike. John got a kick out of the people in costumes and the owner’s attempts at creating a magical and whimsical atmosphere. He had only read the first two books and refused to watch the films until he finished them. As he walked through the pub towards Mike’s table he thought of the last two boxes to be unpacked and the seven Harry Potter books in there. He did want to get around to finishing them someday. Mike however was the biggest Potterhead he knew and absolutely loved the place. John joined his friend and ordered a beer. 

“So how’s it going, the unpacking then?” was Mike greeting.  


“Oh great, yeah just great. Two boxes left” John replied as he settled into his chair and turned to the band. THE WEIRD BROTHERS the banner said. “Any good?” John asked nodding toward the corner in which the three men played.  


“Yea loads. Regulars, though you’d know that if you had gotten past book 2. Their name is a play on a band name from book 4.” Mike said sternly.  


“Oh, right” John half chuckled in response, he had figured they had something to do with the theme of the establishment from their outfits. Mike continued in his typical fashion, diving right into his fandom and smothering all conversation with it. John vaguely listened to his obsessive friend a short while until a woman Mike knew with violently purple hair joined them. Soon the two of them were completely engrossed in a discussion leaving John to his thoughts. He sipped his beer and listened to the music, it wasn’t half bad, though he didn’t know half of what they were singing about. Dementors? What the hell is a dementor? He thought about asking Mike and returned his focus to what he was saying. Oh crap, he is comparing the movies to the books again. He wouldn’t be able to get word in about dementors. He took another mouthful of beer instead. The tiny holes in his cuff caught his eye as he lowered the glass. Sherlock had washed the towels, had he washed the jumper and shirt as well? But it was ages ago that the shirt had been splattered, before the wedding. The wedding, John had done that, he had a wife and a baby on the way, the perfect dream, but no longer. The only constant in life is change, Mrs. Hudson had told him. He huffed into his beer and took a long draught of his frosty beverage, draining the pint. The sound pulled his companions focus from his devoted conversation.  


“Geez, I’m sorry mate, I asked you here to get your mind off things and have a fun night and I get lost in my own world with Jane here” He clapped a hand on John's shoulder and gave Jane an apologetic smirk. She stood “No worries, I’ll leave you to it then.” Leaning in she pecked Mike on the cheek and made her way over to a rather wild looking group at the next table.  


“She seems keen on you.” John tried to take charge of the conversation. He really didn’t want to talk about his life.  


“Ha! Yea sure, bright young thing, beautiful too. I doubt we would have much in common outside the pub.”  


“Haven’t asked her out yet then?” John had seen the two of them together every time he had come here. Granted he wasn’t here as often as Mike, but often enough to know his friend liked the girl.  


“Nothing beyond ‘same time tomorrow?” Mike responded a little gloomily.  


A waitress came by and they both ordered a second pint. They fell into casual talk of life thankfully avoiding John’s current situation. When pint three arrived John was feeling good and relaxed. The music was enjoyable regardless of him not understanding the content, and he could smell the fabric softener from his jumper. If he could smell it, it was washed recently or the scent would have faded. Sherlock must have washed it when he did the towels. He was still beside himself at the thought of Sherlock willingly doing laundry, and for someone else. “Bollox” John snapped cutting Mike off.  


“No really! They completely leave his character out of the films!” John reflected a moment curious how in the world their conversation had gotten back to these books. Pulling out his phone he corrected the man “No, sorry not that. I just remembered I never responded to Sherlock’s texts”  


“You do that, I’m off to the loo” Mike wandered off. John unlocked his phone and was annoyed with himself for not changing the passcode yet. If he wanted to stop thinking of her all the time he needed to do things like that. He typed:  


Thanks for the clean towels and shirts. Since when does Sherlock Holmes do washing and buy fabric softener? Hope no one commits a crime in my room; you’ll never solve it without the dust.  


He hit send and emptied his glass. He checked his watch. 11:45. He stretched and stood, he walked over to Mike just coming across the room. “Hey thanks for the pint, I’m going head out, long day and all.”  


“Sure thing. Have a good night, keep your chin up” and Mike wandered over to the table where the purple haired Jane pulled out a chair for him. 

Back at the flat John collapsed onto the sofa. He thought about watching some telly, he wasn’t quite ready for bed. He wished Sherlock was there. He wandered into the kitchen, knowing full well he’d find empty cupboards but there was always tea. Putting the kettle on he rolled up his sleeves to wash the mugs, bringing his mind back to the laundry. He must want something John deduced; it’s the only explanation. What did Sherlock want if he had gone to the extent of cleaning his room on top of the wash? He shuddered to think of what the detective would be requesting of him when he returned. “That man and his experiments.” He chuckled to himself. Ignoring the last two boxes he tucked in to watch the end of The Avengers on TV before crawling his way up to bed. His mind was full of superheroes and their exciting lives as he closed his eyes. “Sherlock is like a superhero” he mused as he rolled over into the pillows “super powers of deduction, which makes me his sidekick I suppose.” he thought with a smile as he drifted to sleep “thank god I don’t have to wear tights” 

He awoke with a start the next morning covered in sweat; another nightmare. Images flashed through his mind; Mary in the café, the man coming in to meet her, Moriarty’s face on every video screen in the country, Sherlock falling from the roof. He sat up and hugged his knees and the last image fixed itself in his mental focus; Sherlock on the pavement covered in blood. That had been the most horrible moment of his life, the most horrible two years. His current situation was nothing compared to the belief he had lost Sherlock. He felt the familiar tightness in his chest and the swelling near his eyes. He would never be able to forget the heartache that had caused him. He may have forgiven the bastard but he can’t unsee his best friend dead. As a tear now fell onto his knee it occurred to him that he had only cried once for Mary. He wiped his face; in fact he now realized, it was mostly just anger at being deceived he felt along with the confusion that comes with no longer living the life you had grown so accustomed to. The clarity of thought boosted his spirit slightly. One night back in his bed at 221B and suddenly he could see through the tangled mess he had been living in since the street corner discovery. He smiled to himself as he got up and headed downstairs to the loo. It wasn’t exactly Mary herself he missed, just the idea of her. The idea of marriage and kids, what he thought he always wanted. What the world conditions all people to think the goals in life are. And now he had lost them. Sure, he could meet someone else, try again. But if he was honest with himself he never felt like he belonged there anyway. It always felt like he was an actor on stage. He kept his gun on him at all times and spare clothes in a bag by the door always ready to run off with Sherlock at a moment’s notice. He had thought of life with the detective constantly. He had missed Baker Street terribly. But now he was back. He stroked the counter lovingly as he waited for the coffee to brew, again wishing Sherlock was there. He searched for his phone and reread the last texts he had received from his friend. Tomorrow he would return and John would undoubtedly be snatched right up into some adventure. Longing for the excitement his flat mate added to life John brought his last two boxes into their living room to unpack. He noticed for the first time his shelf of the bookcase had been cleared and the cabinet under the telly he also found empty, ready for his collection of DVDs. The thought that Sherlock wanted him back as much as John wanted to be here crossed his mind. He felt a wave of affection towards the man. John was back where he belonged “and” he thought firmly to himself as he emptied the last box “I am never going to leave again.”


	2. Sentiment

Sherlock hated the shops. Full of stupid people obsessing over the most trivial of things; Are these oranges organic? Is this meat grass fed? Boring. He grabbed a fresh box of his favorite biscuits before continuing to the fabric softener he came in there for. Catching the time on the chip and pin machine he performed a quick calculation. “Excellent” he thought “15 minutes back to the flat, 2.25 hours to wash and dry… Then fold” he added rolling his eyes, “leaving 1.5 additional hours to complete the remaining tasks” Plenty of time before he had to meet Lestrade. He had already cleaned his returning flatmates room with all the precision of a graduate chemist, thoroughly removing all the dust. Though why John wanted things that way he couldn’t understand. All he did know was that John liked it, and he liked John being there. Sherlock knew he had lived alone quite contentedly for some years before the army doctor limped into his life, but an annoying distraction had developed and grew until it consumed the entirety of his thoughts; Sherlock noticed John’s absence. It started out insignificant; He would be calling to John or reviewing a case and the doctor would never respond no longer how long he waited. He had asked Molly to get him a new skull, but she had not been able to comply with his request. 

After a time he noticed other things; the towels and mugs no longer washed themselves, the kettle was always empty as was john’s chair. After a solid month of staring at the fabric rather than its former occupant Sherlock realized he had spent 3 straight hours on 3 separate occasions thoroughly examining and cataloging the pattern of the cloth. “WASTING STORAGE SPACE” the eccentric man had yelled and he moved it into the vacant second bedroom. Now however the chair was back in its proper place, as soon would be its usual contents. 

Back at the flat Sherlock stopped in his room before heading down to start the wash. He knew John would be returning to Baker Street with only soiled laundry and so had decided to provide clean towels for the inevitable shower John would take. The detective happened to have something else he knew his friend would need. He retrieved a box from under his bed. Opening it he lovingly ran his long pale fingers across the fabric before removing the jumper. A smirk snapped into place as he recalled the successful experiment to obtain his bloggers garment. Getting the shirt as well had been an unplanned bonus. Bringing it to his face he inhaled deeply, as he suspected all traces of his missing companions scent were gone. It now smelled rather like the dusty underside of the bed. He would have to fabricate a different situation to get a hold of a new jumper once all of Dr. Watson’s things were back in their proper place. “Sentiment” Sherlock thought as he collected the shirt as well and headed towards the washroom “Mycroft really has no idea what he is talking about.” 

Try as he may, Sherlock is not Mycroft. He aspires to be a cold, calculating, socially detached copy of his brother but he isn’t. His entire life the younger sibling had been told his feelings were a waste of time by the older one. Ridiculed and taunted enough times he eventually learned to hide it all exceptionally well. Sherlock’s heart however did not give in easily, and he even had a boyfriend while at university. It ended, of course, in heartache and the pain had been insufferable. It was enough to close him off completely. He had the world convinced he was a high functioning sociopath. Mycroft alone knew the truth and was irritably efficient at extracting an emotional display out of him, hence the title of Sherlock’s archenemy. Even now home alone he felt ashamed and embarrassed for his emotional display and rather crossly slammed the washing machine shut before smashing the start button. “Reaction to one emotion evokes another” he snarled as he traveled back upstairs.

He snatched up the new box of biscuits and settled across the sofa to wait out the wash. He hardly cared what Mycroft said he reminded himself. John was coming back to live with him tomorrow and that was the whole reason he had started on this tediously ordinary undertaking to begin with. He was wholeheartedly determined to not squander the opportunity and ensure his flatmate never left again. He had inferred after many long hours of analysis that John’s chief complaint in regards to their living arrangement must have been Sherlock’s utter and complete disregard for any type of domestics. He saw this to be the only notable difference between himself and Mary. Mary, the name curled his hands into fists and caused his muscles to shake with fury. He had used his power of persuasion to push John back into her arms after she had nearly killed him. He had reasoned away her motives and made it perfectly acceptable for John to remain with her. It never occurred to his brilliant mind that it was in fact for Moriarty’s reasons she had not shot to kill.  
He had been unsurprised but the consulting criminals return from the dead, after all he had faked his own death. It was Moriarty’s connection to Mary that caught him completely off guard. Irritated to the dangerous point of shooting more holes in the walls he got up to fetch his laptop and spent the rest of the wash time going over what little information Lestrade had sent for the case they were about to go investigate. He was just concluding his domestic rituals when his phone ringtone sounded. It was Mycroft. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and then answered.

“What?” Sherlock snapped.

“Now now brother dear why the hostility?” Mycroft sounded annoyingly like he knew exactly what had been going through the detectives mind all evening. “I wonder if you’ll be taking up sewing as well?”

Confirmed, blasted man, he must have the flat bugged again. “I said what Mycroft, as in what do you want?”

“Do I need a reason to check in on my little brother?” He continued to jab at Sherlock.

“Clearly you have monitoring equipment to do that for you. Tell me why you phoned or I am going back to my experiment.” 

“Hardly, you’re simply too easy to read. He is returning to Baker Street tomorrow evening, is he not?” Mycroft wouldn’t give in to his brother’s threats.

“Obviously, you ensured the sale of their townhouse. I expect he should arrive at some point between 5:47 and 6:08pm depending on the route the cabbie takes.” He accepted at this point the British government had merely called to antagonize him. 

“And you’ll be at Baskerville, poor dear. Have to wait for the happy reunion of Sherlock Holmes and his Doctor Watson.” Sherlock distained the emphases his sibling gave the word his. 

“Putting on weight again?” Sherlock made an assumption and figured this taunting was a distraction from devouring a confectionery food of some kind. 

Mycroft ignored the jib, but decided to switch topics “Any word yet on Moriarty?”

Clenching muscles at the name Sherlock didn’t reply. His brother knew full well that was why Lestrade and him were about to leave for Baskerville. Finally the point of this tender conversation was about to be revealed. 

Mycroft continued into the silence “Well your security clearance is at the highest level for 48 hours beginning at 9am tomorrow. Do put it to some good use.” Mercifully the call was disconnected. 

Collapsing onto the bed Sherlock was charged with annoyance. He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Relatives were incredibly tiresome. He focused on the light fixture and furrowed his brow. He was in John’s room; he had subconsciously wandered up here while on the phone. It didn’t have the calming affect it once did without the presence of John scented things. He sighed and sat up. Three more days and he would be reunited with his blogger. He smiled to himself as he headed off to meet Lestrade; with how John was going to find the flat they would have a happy reunion. 

He forgot all about the sink full of teacups.


	3. Reunited

John had spent his Saturday bustling around town running errands. It was a beautiful day and he was looking forward to Sherlock coming home late that night. The affection he had felt towards his flatmate after the realizing his motives for cleaning up still resided warm in his belly and he missed his friend. While waiting up for the suddenly domestic Mr. Holmes, he had received an email from Harry. She clearly had been drinking; the email was full of accusations and false assumptions about what had happened with Mary. Harry blamed John saying he was as unfit a husband as he was brother and that she wasn’t the least bit surprised Mary had left him. John never had gotten around to telling his sibling the truth. After all they didn’t get on, and the thought of having that particular conversation with someone he detested was an unpleasant prospect. The email had left him in a gloomy mood as he sat staring at the crap telly but not really watching anything. All he could do was sit there and stew about the awful things Harry had said and he soon was also filled with the anger he bore towards Mary. He was sitting there; fists clenched and teeth barred, when Sherlock walked into the flat. Sherlock knew at once something was wrong and his heart dropped, he wasn’t getting his happy reunion after all. 

“Email from Harry.” It wasn’t a question.

“I do not want to talk about it Sherlock.” John said, rather more harshly than he intended.

“Oh boring.” Sherlock responded automatically. He wished John would stop having correspondence with his sister, it always upset John so much and Sherlock found the repetition tiresome. 

“Right! Sure! You’re only my best friend why would you care what I am going through!” He was taking his frustrations out on Sherlock now, but he was too angry to care.  
Sherlock was unsure how to respond to the outburst. He did care, but he didn’t know what he should do in this moment to show it. Angry John was something he had not gotten the handle of dealing with. He turned on his heel and escaped to the kitchen instead. 

“Bloody unbelievable!” John yelled at his friends back. “Sod it” he added in an under tone and stormed off to his bedroom. 

Sherlock was left standing alone. This was not how he had pictured their first night as flatmates again. He wandered off to his room and shut the door. Sitting on his bed he retreated into his mind palace, reviewing the data he had so far collected on this side of his friend. He needed to find a solution for when John got this way.  
Upstairs John paced the floor muttering to himself until he was no longer boiling over. Several deep breaths later and he stopped seeing red. “I shouldn’t have popped off on Sherlock” he thought guiltily “it wasn’t his fault, and he had just gotten back” He flopped onto his bed and sighed. What a mess. Now Sherlock was likely to be moody and withdrawn for days, and John had really been looking forward to them being together again. Maybe he should go and apologize before it’s too late. He went down stairs and knocked on his flatmates door.

“Yes what is it?” was the cold reply

John opened the door and stepped into the dark room. He could just make Sherlock out sitting on the bed. “Listen, I’m sorry I popped off. I was taking my anger out on you when you and that’s not fair. Harry is just such a prat and got me thinking all about Mary and Mori…”He was cut off by the sudden rush of moment and arms wrapping around his body. Sherlock pulled him in close and firmly held him there. John was surprised by the taller man’s strength, his own arms found their way around Sherlock’s waist and he squeezed back. “I’m happy I am home again” John whispered into the silk covered chest, grabbing handfuls of the fabric in his hands. Sherlock squeezed tighter in response. “As am I John, this... This is where you belong” resting his chin on John’s head. John nuzzled into the soft fabric beside his cheek and it dawned on him ‘Wait this is Sherlock I’m up against!’ panic formed in the doctor’s mind as he realized what he was doing. The moment quickly turned awkward as John fully absorbed the fact that he was wrapped around his male friend, clinging on for dear life. He backed off rather abruptly and cleared his throat. “Well... err... uh, see you tomorrow then” and John fled off up to his room and collapsed on his back across his bed. ‘What was that?’ he pondered ‘I definitely just had a moment with Sherlock Holmes’ 

John stared at the ceiling and his mind was spinning after the evening’s emotional run around. His thoughts found their way back to the beginning of his current situation.  
Three months ago just after New Year’s; John and Sherlock had been investigating a case that had brought them almost out of London completely. The detective and his assistant were held up in a dank basement flat with a small window looking out to the street. They were waiting for the appearance of a blue shoed man when they saw her. Mary had gotten out of a cab and walked into the café across the street. She had no reason to be there as Sherlock quickly pointed out, and so their attention was drawn to watching Mrs. Watson instead. She got a pastry and some tea and sat down at one of the tables. She took out a book. They waited a while, then when it started to seem as though she had actually come all the way there for the tea, a man approached the table. From the cruddy basement window the pair could only make out the back of the newcomer. Mary stood and threw her arms around him, and they kissed passionately. Before the display of affection ended John was in the street furiously dashing towards the café with Sherlock right at his heels. He burst through the doors and charged across the room; Mary saw him over the shoulder of her mysterious companion and gasped. As if in slow motion the rest of the scene now played out:  
The stranger turned slowly to face the doctor, and to his horror an all too familiar smile stood in front of him. In the shock John had tried to slow himself, but tripped then skidded to the floor. Sherlock leaped over John grabbing for the consulting criminal, but their enemy had already grabbed Mary’s wrist and was pulling her towards the kitchen and out the back. Full of fury at the revelation and concern for John, Sherlock paused briefly, then turned back rather than chase after the escaping pair. He reached down and pulled John up to standing position in one fluid movement. The bloggers eyes; full of tears and hatred, scanned the taller man’s face searching for answers as Sherlock’s mind came to its conclusion about what they had just discovered. It had all been a rouse, all of it. Mary was working for Moriarty the entire time, and was also his lover. Suddenly it made sense how she had found herself pregnant when John had insisted they had been so careful. The detective’s chest became tight as it occurred to him how this information was likely to affect John. Pulling the now sobbing man in close the taller man wrapped his arms around his friend. John was too distraught to flinch at the sudden embrace, and instead wrapped his own arms around Sherlock’s waist and let his head fall onto the chest of the man who now supported him. They held the embrace, John quietly sending tears onto the silk shirt, Sherlock firmly applying comforting pressure around the jumpered shoulders. 

...

As the recollection played through his mind John had curled into a ball at the foot of his bed. He had forgotten all about that display of comfort his friend had committed. The consoling action had seemed perfectly natural at the time; who wouldn’t hold their best friend after they found out their wife was not only cheating on them, but that the whole relationship had been a sham? Anyone would do that, but not Sherlock Holmes. No Sherlock didn’t understand things like, that he found them trivial and a waste of time. Yet there was no denying it; John had definitely been comforted and held reassuringly, twice. A second equally as surprising realization followed that thought: John had liked it. Drifting to sleep there at the foot of his bed he couldn’t recall another hug in all his life that had felt like that. He fell asleep dwelling upon the warmth of Sherlock’s chest against his cheek.  
Sometime later a somber melody roused him. He shifted on the bed to get under his covers, then lay listening to the violin until he fell back to sleep, a small smile on his face.

...

Sherlock stood in his darkened room after John had fled and analyzed the interaction he had just initiated. The embraced he had just shared with John needed to be saved to his mental hard drive in perfect clarity. He closed his eyes and recalled every sensation of his body making contact with John’s as he held him; the firmness of John’s muscular physique under his arms and across his chest, the way john had brushed along his hips as his hands has slid around his waist, the lingering scent of him on his clothes. The euphoria of John squeezing back and nuzzling into his chest was particularly strong. His cheeks flushed and his stomach did a flip. He didn’t recall physical contact feeling this way before. He wanted… needed more. His addiction to John had intensified. Changing into his dressing gown he perched on his bed, making a mental note to come up with ideas of how to get john to touch him like that again.  
He reviewed the scene further; he had acted out of an emotional response, and was hugely rewarded. Twice he had felt the overwhelming desire to have John in his arms and actually followed through with it. The first time he had risked exposure and reached out for the doctor it had seemed to go relatively unnoticed. That was not the case tonight, granted the self-proclaimed sociopath did not have a wealth of experience in this area, but he was strongly convinced John had reciprocated this time. There had been a moment of connection between them he was almost positive. But he wasn’t positive; nothing bothered the genius more then not knowing. How did ordinary people live this way? Frustrated he got up and went in search of his violin, the instrument had a way of allowing him to think more clearly about emotions. 

As the music flowed across the flat, Sherlock’s cognitive process slowed and he was able to feel rather than think. Deep in this inner most part of himself the consulting detective had been fighting with feelings towards his flatmate for some time. He had been determined to hold onto his facade and not let John in, but Sherlock was utterly transfixed and mesmerized by the doctor. His habits had been easy to observe and catalogue, but something about the man baffled Sherlock and he found it irresistible. From the very first time the detective had explained his deduction process and received the unexpected “extraordinary, that was quite extraordinary” Sherlock was hooked. John was better than any drug. Before he knew it he had allowed John to become his one real friend in the entirety of the world. But his infatuation didn’t stop there.  
Sherlock continued to play, pacing around the room. He recalled the moment he realized that he had become dependent on John’s scent for its calming effect. The blogger merely had to enter the room and Sherlock would feel as though 4 nicotine patches had been applied to his skin. Shortly after that the detective had found he could hardly concentrate on whatever was under his microscope if John entered the kitchen to perform some task. The domestic details of his companion were fascinatingly distracting, as were their effects on Sherlock. Soon he had an almost endless list of experiments revolved around obtaining new information about John. He wanted to know everything about the man he lived with. He could never seem to collect enough data on his doctor. Sherlock’s world was quickly becoming consumed by the man, and he loved it. Then John was gone and everything changed. 

Sighing and flopping onto the sofa Sherlock bleakly remembered how the sudden absence of everything John Watson had made the time spent dismantling Moriarty’s network especially difficult. But the work had kept him busy enough not to dwell on it. Returning to find John had moved on however had brought his absence into sharp focus. Learning he would have to settle for occasional drop bys and 1 out of 4 cases together he cursed himself endlessly for not letting John know he was still alive. “One word Sherlock, that’s all I would have needed. One word” echoed through his mind and haunted him, if only he had not gotten defensive when Mycroft suggested that they let his blogger in on their plans. He scowled, huffed and sat up. Rubbing his temples he wished John was up to make him some tea, why did he have to sleep so much? He let his head fall to his chest and breathed to steady his thoughts. Noticing John’s scent was still on his shirt he breathed in deeply and a soothing wave passed through his body. 

‘John’s upstairs’ he realized ‘upstairs, here at Baker Street with me.’ He got up and went to the loo. A smiled crossed his face as he washed his hands, ‘John is home and I’m keeping him here’ Contented with this thought Sherlock wandered off to bed, dwelling on the warm feeling of John nuzzling his face into his chest.


	4. What is that smell ??

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A delightful smell awakens John, when he arrives in the kitchen of 221b he hardly can believe what he finds.

John awoke to the sun having found the perfect crack in the shades; shining directly into his eyes as he opened them. To escape the light he rolled over and buried his head in the pillow. It was Sunday after all, with no clinic today he wanted to sleep in. As he lay there trying to find his way back to his dream, a smell filled his nostrils he couldn’t ignore. Getting up he followed the scent into the kitchen. What he saw made him question if he had in fact fallen back to sleep; a dressing gown clad Sherlock was making breakfast, not just toast but a proper meal. John tried to shake the sleep out of his mind as he took in the scene, but it was real. He was awake and Sherlock had made him breakfast. 

“Don’t just stand there, I have timed this perfectly to be completed in the amount of time it takes you to wake and perform your morning bathroom rituals. If you waste any more time your egg will not be cooked to your preferred consistency and you won’t be able to spread the yolk on your toast.” Sherlock said without turning his focus away from the pan. “I will be very cross if you are not ready to eat when the cooking is completed”

Without a word John scooted off to the loo. ‘I must be in the twilight zone’ John thought as he flushed the toilet and turned to the sink. What in the world was going on with his flatmate recently; cleaning, hugs and now cooking? A rather large smile was across his face as he splashed the last remnants of sleep away with cold water ‘I could get used to this’ 

As John ate; for Sherlock only had tea; the detective filled his companion in on all the happenings while at Baskerville with Lestrade. “As I suspected the lowermost levels of the facility you and I were not granted access to during our visit did not contain the bins. Once I determined the security code and gained access to the room I discovered evidence of Moriarty’s involvement in that case after all.” 

“Wait, you mean with the Hounds of Baskerville? He had his hands in that too?” John questioned, letting his toast hover in the air on way to his mouth. He held it still too long however and the egg started to drip down his thumb. He quickly devoured it, while Sherlock snapped “Yes John that’s what I’ve just been saying, do keep up.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, though a smirk crossed his face before he continued “It turns out that the consulting criminal provided the chemicals Bob Franklin used to… Uh… create the gas we were drugged with. He, that is… er… Moriarty also helped keep Baskerville quiet… I mean as in secret” Sherlock’s train of thought was interrupted by the fact that John was licking his thumb clean of the egg yolk that had dripped there. He suddenly could think of nothing else except John’s tongue behind those soft pink lips.

“Mmm Sherlock this hits the spot” John said rubbing his belly “I honestly didn’t think you knew how to make eggs” John chuckled.

“Honestly John, of course I know how to make eggs! Just because I don’t go around killing people doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly how I would do so based upon whom I was killing and the various situations that might lead up to my needing to do so!” He stood, snatching up John’s plate and plopping it in the sink before dramatically stomping off into the living room. He needed to get away from John’s lips.

Eyes wide at that extraordinary response John shook his head and chuckled to himself; ‘typical Sherlockian response.’ He went to the sink he set about cleaning up from the meal before making a second cup of tea for them both and joining Sherlock by the window.

The pair stood together quietly sipping their tea some while. Sherlock could feel the warmth of John’s body next to him, why did he have to stand so close? The intense urge for physical contact with his blogger threatened to overtake his control. He clutched onto his tea for support. He focused all his attention on a pair of people in the street below, he didn’t trust himself to speak. John didn’t notice the tension in his friend; he was simply so happy to be back at Baker Street with Sherlock, he was hardly aware of anything else. He watched the passing cars on the street and pedestrians with their shopping completely content with the world. It wasn’t until he saw a man walking his dog he remembered what Sherlock had just told him about the HOUND case. 

“So I get Dr. Franklin hiring Moriarty to get him the chemicals, but what care could Moriarty possibly have to keep Baskerville secret?” 

“OH!” Sherlock was louder than anticipated making John jump “That’s just it isn’t it, why would Moriarty care if a desolate military base remained hidden from the rest of the world. He has his fee, who cares if Dr. Franklin gets caught?” Sherlock had popped right back into full animation at John’s question. Spinning around, bathrobe swirling through the air he crossed to the kitchen and returned with some photographs. “Quite an unexpected discovery, though now it makes complete sense of course” Sherlock thrust the photographs into John’s hands. 

John was looking at an office; papers all across a desk, computer, bookcase. He couldn’t surmise what was so revealing about this photo. Flipping to through the rest, the picture became clearer. Seemingly connected to the office was an entire flat. “There’s someone living in Baskerville?” John attempted. 

He looked up at Sherlock and Sherlock just stared back at him waiting for John to work it out. “Moriarty was hiding out there!?” 

“Not just hiding out John, a base of operations John!” Sherlock exclaimed grabbing John’s shoulders and shaking him, his excitement lit up his face. John couldn’t help but smile back at the huge grin across his friends face. “I have everything now, don’t you see? Everything! It’s all encrypted of course, and quite masterfully too I might add, but I will get in and then Bam!” he slapped his hand on the desk “We will have them!”

John was overwhelmed with this news. There had not been a whisper of the bastard criminal or his lying soon to be ex-wife since they escaped out the back of that café. The thought of finally getting his hands on them both excited and terrified him. ‘What will I say to her?’ He had forgotten to be angry with Mary while enjoying his time back with Sherlock and suddenly so much came flashing back over him. He drifted away from Sherlock and fell into his chair, running his hands through his hair. He sighed and let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling. 

John was not reacting the way Sherlock anticipated he would at this news. He expected him to be equally as charged at the prospect of being on the chase again together, and for a pair of people that Sherlock very much wanted to get his hands on. Turning to the window again he started to worry maybe this case would be too much for John and he would have to go it alone again. The thought sent a shudder through him. ‘No. I cannot... Will not be away from him like that again. We do this together or not at all.’ He heard John let out another sigh and realized he had clenched his fists and was shaking with anger. Or was it worry? A combination of both seemed most likely. The detective slipped and expressed his frustrations “Fuck Moriarty.” 

John agreed with the rare curse from his logical friend. “mmhm damn straight” he replied. A period of quiet passed, the two men both withdrawn into their own persons. Just as John was picking up his tea Sherlock broken the silence. 

“How are you doing John?” Sherlock’s voice was soft and quiet, full of concern but he did not shift his focus from the window. 

“Surprisingly okay” John responded. “It is starting to just feel like one giant case, and Mary is just another in the line of women it didn’t work with. I … I” he paused and sipped his tea; John always had trouble expressing his feelings. “I’m relieved I think honestly, I hated not being involved in every case with you and the thought of how much a baby would make that worse was terrifying.”

Still Sherlock stared out to the street below. John cleared his throat and found himself wanting to express more, however difficult it was.  
“I wanted to come home to Baker Street the second I saw your stupid face with that poorly drawn on mustache, though I hardly would have been able to admit that then. I was so angry I..” again his words failed him, he shifted awkwardly in his chair “I felt I was caught in the tide and being swept out to sea, but now I feel like I have my life back, so oddly I feel pretty damn good.”

“I’m sorry I left you alone John” the statement was barely audible but it rang loud to john’s ears and warmed his gut. Now it was John that was moving swiftly across the room to stand behind Sherlock. He hesitated a moment then wrapped his arms around the taller man’s waist and squeezed. Laying his cheek upon Sherlock’s back John whispered “I know why you did and I forgive you” he increased his pressure around the detective’s midsection to a more threatening amount and added “but if you ever do anything like that again so help me Sherlock.” 

Stunned by the embrace and euphoric at the sudden contact Sherlock was unable to respond beyond a low grunt. John took this as an acknowledgment and returned to his chair and tea. He finished the cup and still Sherlock hadn’t moved. John worried he had over stepped his friend’s comforts with initiating the hug so he tried to shift his attentions.  
“What’s with the sudden domestics Sherlock? We’ve lived together for years and I don’t recall you making me a meal or doing wash willingly once.”

Slowly recovering from the unexpected contact with John it was a moment before Sherlock’s brain could process the question John had asked of him. He was not used to having emotional reasons for things much less expressing them, so he didn’t know what to say. “I wanted...” he started but abandoned the thought; instead he turned from the window and crossed to sit opposite John. Conflicted and still tingling from the impact of Johns touch, he just picked up his violin.  
John laughed “Well whatever it is you're getting at be careful, I could get used to you cooking for me”


	5. Rooftop rain

The consulting detective and his assistant quickly fell back into their old routine; solving cases and blogging about them. In no time John was once again going days without sleep, couldn’t remember when last he had eaten and running endlessly around the city; loving every fatigued stressful moment. 

Their first case back together was one that, as usual, was out of Lestrade’s depth and relatively uneventful; with the single exception of the fact that John was certain he had heard Greg on his mobile saying “No I can’t tonight Mycroft I’m sorry, it will have to be after this case.” When he mentioned this to Sherlock the detective’s face showed genuine surprise that quickly transformed into disgust before muttering “goldfish” under his breath. Unable to get anything else out of him on the matter John was left quite puzzled. 

They had another brush with the CIA and almost lost their culprit to the Americans in the case John dubbed “The Denim majority”. John had embellished quite a bit in “the Galaxy walks off” which Sherlock had solved without leaving the flat, but John couldn’t resist posting because of the way Sherlock thought the client was complaining of a stolen candy bar until John had explained. The detective really had no grasp of astronomy whatsoever. 

The cases continued and the weeks passed as they do. However busy as their lives got, Sherlock often insisted that John go to bed on Saturday evenings and then made John breakfast on Sundays. “I need my blogger rested” he simply stated the first time he sent John to bed. Sherlock was still determined to treat John better so he never left again, and remembering he has physical needs for things like food and rest was part of that plan. It was in utter disbelief that John sat down to the first mid case meal. “I thought we had to get to Lestrade this morning and get him to run that plate from the BMW?” he questioned as he spread jam on his toast.

“It is highly unlikely that a two hour delay in retrieving that information will have any impact on our catching up with the trail.” Replied Sherlock placing a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage in front of John “provided you don’t waste any more time protesting and just eat the meal I have prepared for you.” Sherlock snapped, sitting down and picking up his tea. John did as he was told equally as stunned about the circumstances as how delicious the food was.

It didn’t take many ‘shut up and eat’ responses for John to stop questioning Sherlock about exchanging investigating for making breakfast on Sundays. Even when two hours started to become four depending on the complexity of what the detective had planned to make, John learned to just go with it. He went to bed every Saturday night wondering what was in store for him the next day. It was a double bonus really because it also meant he was guaranteed to see his bed at least one night of the week, however briefly. 

Sherlock had learned how to make pancakes, scones, muffins, frittata, omelets and a variety of pastry. The detective found he quite liked the precision of baking; it wasn’t a far stretch for the chemist. Furthermore he quickly found that applying his mind to this most ordinary of tasks allowed him to sort through his mind palace more easily. It was a surprise for him to discover a weekly break would help him as well. He especially liked the reactions his weekly culinary exploits would receive from John and he quickly realized he was able to please John through food. The doctor liked the word extraordinary, along with delightful and fantastic. A range of satisfied sound effects accompanied these words as his flatmate ate. These reactions Sherlock enjoyed analyzing a great deal; which flavors produced which sounds? Which did John like more than others? He found yet another new addicting part of John. 

The sound of Sherlock’s mobile brought him out of his mind palace. Instantaneously cataloguing his current surrounds as he crossed the room for his phone, he deduced he hadn’t missed much time at all. John was tending to their breakfast dishes, judging from the look on his face and the way he kept arching his back in an attempt to give his stomach more room in his body, the blogger had helped himself to another round of cranberry peach muffins before starting the wash. He swiped open the phone screen, typed his code and found a text from Lestrade:

Crime scene, two blocks from Baker St. double homicide, men found strung up like fucking marionette puppets having a bloody tea party. 

“Lestrade ?” John questioned from the sink.   
“Yes, and it sounds as though someone is being quite interesting!” Sherlock exclaimed practically running to his bedroom to get dressed. A second text sounded from the table. “read it for me will you John?”

Huffing at the request John dries his hands and picks up his flatmate's phone “Lestrade again, he says ‘I’ve been detained, you’ll get there first. WAIT FOR ME. Donovan will have a fit if you two try to enter that scene unescorted.’ What do you suppose he means by that? He’s never called you onto a scene he wasn’t already at before.” 

“The Sunday morning recreational habits of the detective inspector are not my responsibility to keep track of.” Sherlock stated thru gritted teeth, as if whatever he had deduced about what Greg was in fact doing both irritated and disgusted him. “Lestrade will be an hour, at least, I think I’ll have a shower” and he disappeared into the bathroom, once again failing to close the door completely behind him. John wondered why he kept doing that recently, rubbing his face he felt his stubble. He could use a wash as well, why did they have to have only the one bathroom?

The water turned on, then the buzzing of an electric razor. After a moment John heard the sound of the shower curtain sliding open then shut again. ‘What’s the difference?’ he thought ‘he comes in to rattle off deductions on me all the time.’ walking over he pushed the door open just slightly to ensure the detective was in fact enclosed behind the teal shield of their curtain, then pushed it open outright, walked in and closed it behind him. “You’re letting all the steam out of the room you know.” He said as he started to fill the sink. 

Sherlock’s heart jumped at the sound of the door and John’s voice, he dropped the shampoo with a clang into the bottom of their clawfoot tub. Granted this is exactly what he had hoped would be the outcome of his experiment to leave the bathroom door ajar, getting results on the third attempt surprised him. “Jesus you startled me John.” bending down to pick up the bottle it occurred to him this is the first time he had ever been completely naked in John’s presence, shower curtain or not. He suddenly felt rather exposed and understood why John always sounded so cross whenever he came bursting into the room on him. However the realization that there was very little between his body and John stirred some arousal hadn't also figured into his calculations. 

“Yea well I'm sure you are correct in your brilliant deduction that we have an hour until Lestrade arrives, and giving how long you tend to take in the shower, I figured I’d get my shaving done now so the ten minutes you’re likely to leave me will be enough time for my wash.” He lathered his face with cream and picked up his straight razor. Swiping down along his right sideburn and across his jaw, he loved the feeling of uncovering his smooth skin. Shaving was one of his favorite rituals. “How do you know that Lestrade will be an hour? Do you know what he is doing?” he asked as he rinsed off the razor.

The showering man half thought to pretend he hadn’t heard the question with his head under the water rinsing the suds out his curls. He picked up his conditioner and huffed. “Honestly John why do you care?” Pouring the liquid into his hand and working it through his locks he found he was enjoying having his blogger in the bathroom with him as much as hypothesized. He started to lather up his luffa with his vanilla body wash and decided he would be conversational. “If you must know its not a question of what the inspector is doing but rather who.”

John’s hand jerked in surprise and he nicked his adam’s apple “Ah! Shit!” he breathed and quickly rinsed his face to keep the cream out of the cut. ‘Is Sherlock Holmes really gossiping about someone’s sex life ?’ he thought in disbelief, grabbing the hand towel he dried off his face. 

“why do you insist on using such an outdated shaving tool when you consistently cut yourself with it?” Sherlock teased as he covered his torso with suds. He really was enjoying them doing these rituals together ‘will I ever be able to get enough of this man?’ he pondered, moving down to scrub his long legs. 

“Yea well it's funny how I never seem to have any issues when I don't have someone distracting me” John playfully retorted. He examined his cut in the mirror, he had gotten himself good today. He winced, intaking a sharp breath and said “I better not have wounded myself for nothing Sherlock, out with it.” he picked up his toothpaste. 

Laughing at John's dramatic overstatement the detective took a handful of his apricot face scrub and began massaging it into his pores before responding. “I have been aware for some time that Jeff has been in the beginning of a new romantic relationship, though I only have speculations as to with whom. I need more data before I can confirm my suspicions” he rinsed off his face then turned to rinse the out the conditioner. 

“It's Greg.” John corrected for the millionth time “Greg. Not Jeff or George or Justin or anything else. Greg.” honestly why did this man even bother to try and use the inspector’s first name John would never know. 

A sigh came from the shower “ugh, it's not important, clearly you know who I meant.” turning off the water he added “now you must either hand me a towel or get out, unless you want an eye full. 

John nearly choked on his mouthwash at the mental image that snapped into place. He quickly grabbed a towel and threw it over the shower curtain. Gargling then emptying his mouth John began to undress. “how exactly do you know he is in a relationship?” the doctor isn't surprised at this news, after all Greg had been divorced some time, he's more surprised he hid it so well and hasn't the slightest idea who would be the might be the object of the inspectors affections. 

“You know my methods.” Sherlock simply states as he draws back the shower curtain. His hair is still dripping wet, dropping beads of water onto his shoulders that runs down his chest and back.   
John does a double take as he takes in his flatmate wrapped around the waist in a towel, still dripping wet in places. The bare skin of his chest glistening where the water has passed. His thoughts surprised him ‘wow look at him. His skin is flawless.’ he forgot to breathe ‘Why am I staring, I'm not staring, am I staring? Look away John.. John!’ he has to all but shake himself. He tries to cover for the extended glance “why haven't you dried your hair?” 

The detective smirked knowing full well the reaction he had just gotten from John. “Towel drying your hair causes split ends and thinning. It's much better to let it air dry.” Sherlock explains, stepping out of the tub and leaving the room. John has enough time to get into the shower and wash his hair before the detective is back, taking several bottles of different oils and moisturizers out and set about rubbing it into the appropriate parts of his skin, then putting some sort of product in his hair. ‘I should write a blog about all of these grooming habits this man goes through’ the doctor mused laughing to himself ‘Oh God he'd kill me for sure’ 

Out in the street the clouds were building and a light mist had started. The pair walked around the block until they found the distinctive yellow police tape telling them they were in the right place. John could see Donovan, Anderson and about a dozen policemen but no sign of Lestrade. He was just about to ask Sherlock if maybe he was inside and they should call his mobile when a sleek black town car pulled up behind them. John recognized it immediately having been taken hostage in one so many times himself. “what is your brother doing here Sherlock?” he asked tugging on his flatmates arm. The driver got out and quickly ran to open the door, but it opened from the inside before he could reach it.   
Lestrade turned instantly red as he stepped out face to face with John and Sherlock. ‘Shit’ he thought ‘of course they're here to find me arriving like this. Exactly why I told Mycroft I wanted to take a cab.’ he looked rather cross and embarrassed as he approached. “So urm this case is an odd one boys. Two men upstairs are..” he started but he was cut off.   
“Not as odd as you getting dropped off by Mycroft's people!” John was positively giddy as this revelation. Suddenly he understood why Sherlock kept getting that oddly disgusted face this morning. “When did this start? How! How did this start? You and Mycroft you've got to be kidding me!” 

Greg was properly red and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot ‘Mycroft did this on purpose’ the inspector realized ‘he knew Sherlock knew and wanted to rub his face in it’ he cleared his throat “a while ago, shortly after you were shot actually Sherlock, Myc and I met up after you disappeared from your hospital bed to try and figure out where you'd gone...” 

“Myc! Oh my God Greg! You call him Myc?!” John thought he might explode, this was too surreal. He thought Mycroft was even less likely than Sherlock to ever be in a relationship with emotions and physical connections. ‘woah stop there you don't need to envision that. One mental image of a naked Holmes a day is enough’ he scolded himself “but how did it turn into...” 

“Don't blame me for this abomination! It has nothing to do with me leaving the hospital! I will not be held responsible for this.. Disgusting.. Blehgh Mycroft of all people!” the consulting detective was practically shouting “I had my suspicions of course, but rather hoped I was wrong for once” he shot a look at John the doctor wasn't able to quite figure out the meaning of, but it somehow seemed to calm him. He sighed and closed his eyes before turning back to the inspector. “I am thrilled my brother found himself a goldfish, but if you don't mind there's a so much more interesting situation in this building I would very much prefer if we could move along to” and he swept away in a swirl of coattails towards the building. 

Lestrade and John quickly moved to catch up, John shooting Greg this silly smile and very teenage like looks, bursting with questions for his friend. “We are going to need to go out for some drinks soon.” 

The inspector laughed, and it was a sound filled with pride and happiness. “Yea all right John, we will.” 

They found the flat surprisingly exactly as Lestrade had described it. Teacups, biscuits, marionette strings. John couldn't make sense of a thing. Sherlock of course was bustling all around the room, muttering to himself and finally coming to a halt at the window. 

“Did any of London’s finest happen to notice that this string trails out the window and up to the rooftop?” 

~~

Back out in the rain the trio found where the string lead. There was rooftop pigeon cages and the string was tied to one of the birds legs.   
“What the hell?” Lestrade thought this made things even more confusing but Sherlock said “carrier pigeon “ under his breath and opened the cage door. He pulled a tiny roll of paper from the bird's leg and unraveled it. He read quickly then crumbled out into his fist. 

“Sherlock? What it is?” John didn't like the look on his friends face. 

The detective turned and closed the gap between them with one stride. He stood looking down at John, staring into his eyes. 

John could feel his breath on his face and wondered ‘why is he standing so close?’ he stared up into the eyes of his flatmate and reflexively licked his lips. ‘he's so close’ a completely crime scene inappropriate image snapped back into his mind, making his eyes go soft in spite of his worry. 

Sherlock reached out and grabbed John’s wrist, sending a jolt up John’s arm. He slid his fingers into John’s palm “it's him, John. “   
John’s hands closed around Sherlock’s at the statement and when Sherlock pulled away he left the paper in John’s hand.   
The doctor smoothed it or and read :

You will always be a puppet on my strings, look how I can make you dance.   
-the consulting criminal

He also squeezed his fist closed, re-crumpling the paper.

“What are these numbers here at the bottom?” Greg asked as he took the paper from John. 

“yet another code to break” Sherlock was back to running around the rooftop looking for clues. 

“So it was Moriarty then that killed these blokes?” the inspector questioned. 

“No, no! God what must it be like in that head of yours I can’t imagine. He’s a consulting criminal he doesn’t get his hands dirty.”

“oh, right” Lestrade was starting to get a headache, he pinched the bridge of his nose while thinking ‘I should have let Dimmock take this one and stayed in bed with Mycroft’ his thoughts wandered off as he watched Sherlock inspect the rest of the birds and cages. “There will be another murder, another theatrical set up. Im sure of it.” 

“How can you be?” John wondered aloud.

“Tonight” he continued turning around to face east and pointing across the road “on that rooftop” and he was gone, running off down the stairs. 

Greg and John just looked at each other and sighed before following him down into the street. They were used to the grand mystery that was Sherlock Holmes. He was heading back to baker street, mobile in his hand speedily accessing the internet.   
“Oi ! Sherlock! Wait up would ya !” Greg knew his request was hopeless, so he turned to John instead.”Find out what you can right? Let me know what time and we’ll be there as back up. I know this idiot is expecting to try and catch this perp in the act all on his own to try and get information about Moriarty.” 

“I will, I’ll text you as soon as I know anything, which could be rather last minute knowing Sherlock” and he ran off after his flatmate.

~~

Later that evening the rooftop was wet from the rain and John had trouble keeping his footing. They had surprised the murderer when he arrived with his next victim exactly where Sherlock predicted he would. Startled he took off across the neighboring rooftops and Sherlock quickly made chase with John behind him. The doctor could barely see the detective out ahead of him in the dull light. A gunshot rang out causing John to crouch down low to the ground. 

“What the hell!?” John exclaimed and searched for Sherlock’s silhouette. 

He could still see the outline of his tall companion up on the higher next rooftop. He got up and starting sprinting across to the ladder. John was desperate to close the gap between them now that a gun had been entered into the situation. He wasn’t having Sherlock shot again, especially when he had just gotten him back. In his haste John’s foot slipped on the top rung and he lost his grip on the cold wet metal. He fell, crashing to the lower level, whacking his head on a flue on his way down. Hitting the ground hard, the wind was knocked out of him. He heard more shots and tried to sit up but a wave of stars overcame him. He had just enough consciousness left to call out “Sherlock!” before passing out.

A ringing filled John’s ears, a piercing tone that made him squish up his face and shake his head. The attempted movement sent pain shooting across the back of his skull. The pain sharpened his thoughts and he remembered the gunshots. “SHERLOCK!” he shouted sitting upright and opening his eyes. More pain passed through his body and a blinding light filled his vision. He started blinking rapidly to adjust while panic threatened to overtake him until he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. “I’m here John.” The soothing sound of the detective’s voice instantly calmed him. His eyes started to focus and he recognized the hospital room with its open shades and the rhythmic beeping of equipment hooked up to his body. 

“Where...” his mouth was dry “What happened Sherlock?”

“I found you unconscious and bleeding from a 4 inch laceration, you required 12 stitches. You have been unconscious for 11 hours. You also have a sprained wrist and a broken rib.” John inhaled deeply, felt the stabbing pain again, ‘Oh yea okay there’s that.’ He thought, reaching up he felt the stitches in his head, then leaned back gingerly onto the pillow. He looked over at his flatmate sitting beside him. Sherlock looked tired and his hair was a mess as if his hands had been tugging on it over and over. He was staring at John with the most peculiar look on his face.

“Are you all right? What happened on the roof, did you catch him?” John questioned his friend.

“Yes, he made a miscalculation and ended up descending directly into Lestrade’s waiting officers. He has been taken to Scotland Yard for questioning. I have not yet interrogated him so I am unable to provide any other data with regards to the case…” Sherlock shifted his gaze towards the floor and added softly “and now that you’re awake, yes I am all right.” Sherlock stood and went out into the hall leaving john alone for several moments. The taller man returned with a food tray which he placed in front of John before sitting down with a cup of tea. “Eat.” It wasn’t a request. John opened the lid to find over cooked eggs and rather less than fluffy pancakes. He sighed and picked up his tea instead. The warming comfort of the liquid traveled immediately through his veins and felt wonderful. He leaned back ignoring the food, content just with the drink.

“Why haven’t you been to question him yet?” John asked.

“You were unconscious.” Sherlock replied.

“Yea you’ve said. 11 hours should have been plenty of… Wait you haven’t been here this whole time, have you?” John found the thought incredible, Sherlock passing up questioning a suspect to prove his brilliance in favor of sitting by John’s bedside.

“You were unconscious” Sherlock repeated. “I …” he looked up into his bloggers face “I needed to know you were okay.” The detective shifted uncomfortably in his chair, John was gazing right into his eyes and he found himself wanting to get away yet unable to move. He wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around his blogger, but he was afraid of hurting his injured friend. Conflicted, he reached a hand out and fussed with John’s blanket instead. ‘Hmm so that’s why people do things like this’ Sherlock thought wondering how John was turning him into this sort of person.

“Well I am okay Sherlock, for the most part” he winced as pain shot through his head; he rolled up onto his side to no longer be resting on his wound. “You should go find out what you can now, I’m sure Lestrade has kept him for you” he offered, though he didn’t want him to leave.

“Lestrade can handle it” Sherlock simply said, settling back into his chair and putting his feet up on the end of John’s bed. “You really should eat, that tea alone will not assist your healing”

Leaning forward John put down the cup, took a bite of the pancake then recoiled at the taste.  
“Yuck, these are horrible.” He took another bite “yea dreadful” he complained, but kept eating because he knew Sherlock was right, his body did need the fuel. “I do believe you’ve ruined all other pancakes for me.”

Sherlock smirked “you'll be home by Sunday and I shall make you my pancakes with the blueberry syrup you love so much.”

“Mmmm, I wish I had those now” John said through a mouthful of eggs “and a big pile of those mini cranberry peach muffins.” These thoughts were making his hospital breakfast worse, but also making him all the happier Sherlock was there with him. He finished the plate feeling full and sleepy; he settled back into the bed and became aware of the telly for the first time. He watched the man on the show jump into a lake and come up wrestling a crocodile while he was slowly drifting back off towards sleep. 

~~

The detective had sat quietly sipping his tea watching the doctor eat and then slowly return to sleep. He longed for physical contact with John. He needed the reassurance his blogger was safe; to feel the warmth of his skin. A quick scan and Sherlock found what he needed: the tape was beginning to come loose from John’s IV. He reached out and smoothed it back down carefully. John flinched at the sudden contact and his eyes snapped open. He stared past the curls that were leaning in toward him, at the long pale fingers running across the back of his hand. The tape was reattached with a single pass, but Sherlock continued to run his fingers back and forth gently. He shifted his path to run along John’s knuckles, slowly tracing along each one and down his forefinger before heading back across his knuckles again. The motion made the hairs on John’s arm stand up; his flatmate’s finger tips were so soft and delicate. John savored the soothing comfort of Sherlock’s touch. 

The warmth of John’s skin was sending the most delightful sensations up the detective’s arm and he lost himself in the contact; ‘I need this’ Sherlock thought ‘I need him’ he slipped his thumb under John’s palm and wrapped his fingers around his bloggers. John accepted the contact and subconsciously shifted their hands to interlace their fingers, grateful for the comfort regardless of his thoughts ‘If anyone sees this people will definitely talk.’ He decided he didn’t care ‘Well let them; my head hurts, I’m in hospital and he’s my best mate.’ The army doctor stared at his flatmate’s hair and their hands wondering what this new compassionate side of his friend meant.   
Sherlock was determined not to look up into John’s eyes; he didn’t trust his current emotional state to not be betrayed across his face. Instead the detective shifted to look at the telly, still holding John’s hand. The pair sat together watching the man with his lizards until they both fell asleep.

John was awoken by a nurse coming in to check his vitals. She adjusted his machines and left. Glancing over he noticed Sherlock was asleep with his hand still stretched out onto the bed. John stared at his snoozing friend; the afternoon sun was splashed across his neck and a small section of pale chest that was exposed. ‘His skin is so flawless’ John again found himself thinking, he felt an overwhelming desire to run his thumb along a cheekbone and down his neck. He raised an eyebrow questioning himself ‘really John? This is a man you’re talking about, you’re not gay…’ he signed ‘Oh good grief now I am trying to convince myself. What is happening to me?’ He reached over and took Sherlock’s hand back in his, running his thumb gently back and forth across the smooth pale skin. ‘maybe it’s not so black and white’ he reasoned as he settled back into his pillows, still holding Sherlock’s hand and watching the sunlight dance across his raven black curls ‘after all there’s no denying how beautiful this man is.’


	6. Am I his date ?

John was home by Sunday. Still quite sore, Sherlock had supported him up into their flat late Friday afternoon making promises about take away. The night turned into Saturday and John found himself alone in the flat most of the day. Sherlock presumably off on a case, the injured doctor slept most of the day away anyway. He had their leftover chinese for a late dinner, and frowned when Sherlock still wasn’t home after midnight. His aching body craved the soft comfort of his bed, but before he dragged himself up the stairs however he shot a text to his flatmate:

Not sure where you’ve been all day, but you better get home. I’m expecting breakfast in the morning. 

He chuckled as he imagined Sherlock’s reaction and pulled himself upstairs. He was out cold the second his head hit the pillow. 

~~

Sherlock made John French toast. Either out of boredom, or worry over John in the hospital, Sherlock had spent a great deal of time during the past week experimenting with making about 15 different kinds of bread. “Wow French toast Sherlock that’s my favorite !” John had gleefully exclaimed as he appeared in the kitchen. “Is this why you have been talking about making bread?” he crossed right over to stand next to Sherlock, his entire body pressed against his in an attempt to get closer to the pan. John grabbed Sherlock’s arm and leaned across him in towards the intoxicating smell. As he deeply took in the delightful aroma he increased the pressure on the taller man’s bicep and then ran his hand down the back of his arm as he exhaled, until he was holding his wrist. The detective inhaled sharply at the touch and John’s scent waved over him. He grabbed the counter to steady the sudden weakness he felts in his knees. John’s hand held onto his friend’s wrist a moment as he deeply took in another breath, then the doctor’s fingers slowly released, sliding around and off the back of Sherlock's knuckles as he walked away as if in an attempt to stay in contact with his flatmate as long as possible. He headed off to the loo leaving Sherlock tingling and flushing all over as he served the meal. 

From a combination of John’s recent injury and the stove front encounter Sherlock suddenly needed to spend more time than breakfast with his blogger. He simply couldn’t see himself being able to concentrate on anything else today. He laid a plate of toast freshly drizzled with syrup in front of John and set about trying to figure out how to spend more time together, but couldn’t think of any reason to drag him along with him, since he could hardly think of anything to even occupy himself all week besides making bread. As he listened to the “mmmm”s, “ahhhh”s and assorted pleased smacking sounds coming from his flatmate he considered creating a fake case to spend the day with. ~No that would require too much focus and I wouldn’t be able to study John properly. But I don’t want John to leave and end up just sitting around the flat until I become distracted with boredom either.~ He saw only one way out of this predicament, so making up his mind he said “What shall we do after you finish devouring my French Toast John?” in a rather more seductive tone than planned. 

 

John gasped at the extraordinary question, or would have done if his mouth wasn’t full and ended up coughing several moments instead. Gulping down some juice to help clear his airway he finally was able to respond. “What? You’re actually asking me what I want to do today?” he said as his thoughts were elsewhere; ~Mmm his voice is so sultry in the mornings~ staring at the man with that softened gaze he gave only Sherlock as his mind wandered further ~He hasn’t got a shirt on under his dressing gown this morning, if only he hadn’t tied it today. But still the bit of chest that is exposed accentuates his long neck~ he licked his lips feeling the now too familiar desire to touch his flatmate in ways he never had. He quickly finished his toast to keep his mind off it when the detective looked up from his own plate again. 

 

“Yes John I’m bored.” Sherlock answered between mouthfuls “There’s no case in sight, my experiments are all set and don’t need tending for at least 4 days, I have grown tired of staring at the ceiling and you’ve hidden your gun so I don’t shoot the walls any longer. I have used all of our flour and the shops are a nightmare on Sunday so I can’t bake. So yes John please choose an activity for me to accompany you on so I have something, no matter how trivial, to occupy at least some small percent of my mind with.” Overcompensating he came off rather harsher than he intended and he could see the snappy retort building in his flatmates mind “No no don’t get like that John. I mean I want to do something ordinary, something I would not usually do to distract me from my boredom.” He found it hard to come up with a believable lie to cover up his true desire to just spend time observing John.

 

John furrowed his brow and scrutinized Sherlock some time trying to find the true motives behind this rather unprecedented request. He was sure there must be an alternative motive for this request but there also was a new museum exhibit opening he was hoping to go to that afternoon. ~He will just be sarcastic, disruptive and rude to everyone there, do you really want him to come with you?~ he considered while bringing his dish to the pan for more French toast. As he sat back down and started on his second helping he thought about how different his best friend actually had been recently. ~Are you not eating the most delicious French toast you’ve ever had made by the same man?~ Squinting his eyes and giving Sherlock a suspicious look he said “You’re full of surprises these days Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock smirked as John continued eating the meal he had prepared. “I mean to say even my mind can use a break now and then John, so I’d like to shutdown and reboot by just tagging along after you for a change.”

“Well how about that Sherlock Holmes wants a day off. I can’t believe it!” John squeezed out through a full mouth. “Better call Lestrade I think someone’s replaced you with a robot”  
“Honestly John I would have to be a cyborg at least to be able to consume food and drink like I just have” Sherlock huffed slumping back in his chair “I’m sorry I asked since it’s so unfathomable for you to accept I wanted a change in routine, just forget it.”

John laughed outright at this response “Okay Sherlock, okay. We’ll do it your way. I was thinking about that museum exhibit opening today but I haven’t gotten a ticket because I wasn’t sure if we’d have another case yet or not, so I can’t even get in much less both of us.”

Sherlock leaped up with excitement at the prospect of observing John’s enjoyment in a new situation and grabbed his mobile “You’re forgetting who’s related to the British Government, I’ll get us tickets while you finish eating”

 

The pair attended the exhibit and John continued to be surprised when rather than complain and proclaim everything dull and meaningless Sherlock actually made great deductions about the artists biased upon their compositions and painting styles. His insight into the lives of these long dead people was fascinating. He was further impressed with how the detective truly did tag along after him, seemingly content to do whatever it was John wanted.  
While they wandered around the exhibit it was now Sherlock’s turn to devour, soaking up details about John he never had access to before. Seeing John in charge was very alluring, if even in such a small tentative way. As the day wore on John became increasingly more confident that Sherlock would agree to his choices until finally he got the hang of it and straight out told the detective that now they would go get dinner at Angelo’s. 

 

Sherlock marveled at how easily it had been to follow John’s lead all day. As they ate he found himself daydreaming about John’s inner commanding officer and being ordered to do other things until he felt his body was giving his thoughts away. Getting up to find the loo and collect himself Sherlock noticed the restaurant was full of couples as he walked through it. He thought back to their first time together in this restaurant. ~Today feels like it could have been a date~ the genius realized as he found the restroom. ~I will never know why I ever told him I was married to my work.~

 

Back at the table John too noticed the collection of couples surrounding their table and reflected on the day he just had. Observing the nearest couple reach for each other’s hands and lean into kiss; then the candle on their own table, the thought passed through his mind ~If Angelo thought our first time here was a date imagine if he had seen us all day today.~ He chuckled and picked up his glass reflecting on how very like one of John’s dates today was with the exception of the fact that it was with a man. If he was a woman he would be sure he was going to be getting some once they left the restaurant. ‘He made food for me, he did what I wanted to do, he paid for the cab to take me to dinner; all of the things I have done for dates. ~Did Sherlock Holmes ask me out?!~ He emptied his wine glass and leaned back in his chair. He laughed ~that’s nonsense, Sherlock isn’t that way. He just wanted a day to turn his mind off while escaping boredom like he said. Besides, you’re not gay so you can’t be on a date with your best mate.~ However when his companion returned to the table, it was thoughts of his bare chest dripping water from the shower that filled John’s mind. He had had such a wonderful day, was full of food and good wine and it seemed his mind had found its way back to questioning if he truly wasn’t attracted to men, to this man. He gazed at Sherlock in the candlelight ~He is beautiful with those cheekbones, just reach across and touch them, no ! you can’t stroke his cheek in a crowded restaurant! Sure you can he’s right there. No! This is Sherlock for Christ’s sake! I need to touch them though~ John half reached across the table as Sherlock’s head was turned searching for Angelo and quickly grabbed the bottle of wine instead as the detective turned back towards John.

He had been watching the doctor the entire time while he pretended to search for Angelo. ~He was definitely reaching for me and not that bottle; I wonder what he was going to do.~ Quickly deciding that the crowded room may have caused John to sidetrack whatever it was he attempted to do, Sherlock stood and helped his slightly intoxicated friend to his feet. “It’s time to be getting back to the flat don’t you think?”

“What? Oh, yea right okay Sherlock” John stumbled a bit putting on his coat and realized for the first time he had had more wine then he thought. They hailed a cab and climbed into the back. As the car drove off Sherlock automatically checked his phone to see if any cases worth taking had shown up. The driver took a sharp turn to avoid a stop light and the sudden jerking movement caused John to lose his balance and fall into Sherlock. Sleepy and confuddled from the wine John stayed there finding the detective quite comfortable; he wrapped his hand around the detective’s thigh and behind his knee to hold himself in place then nuzzled into his arm drifting off to sleep. Sherlock tensed up then relaxed back into John and placed his face in to smell John’s hair before continuing to search for their next case, hardly able to concentrate on the screen with John wrapped around his leg. He wished the cab ride had been longer when they arrived back at the flat. Rousing his sleeping friend he supported him up the stairs and into bed before retiring to his violin; ecstatic over the results of his experiment to ask John what he wanted to do with the day.

When John awoke in the night to find the loo, it didn’t take long before he remembered the car ride home. Rather than cause the usual nervous confusion in his mind, he looked at it as quite the perfect ending to a perfect day. ~It felt good, that’s what I know.~

~~

Their museum adventure had proved so rewarding, Sherlock found himself not only asking John to choose how they spent their day after breakfast every week, but looking forward to Sundays with great anticipation. He was amazed at how differently the world was through John. An afternoon walk across town to enjoy the fresh air was exceptionally tedious and dull, however an afternoon observing John enjoy a walk couldn’t be more enticing. The way John turned his face towards the sun or breathed in deeply when the warm wind blew, the way that wind ruffled the sandy hair on his head. His tendency to stand a bit closer to Sherlock as they walked, or brush up against him to let other people pass. His delight at getting into places and events he thought were impossible and how he would often times embrace him in gratitude. Nothing, not even a case, could over power this allure. At last the detective understood why ordinary people took time off. Sundays, he had decided, were for John.

 

John couldn’t love this new Sunday ritual more. Week after week he was woken by some perfectly timed aroma, then spent a most ordinary of extraordinary days with his friend. He became accustomed to both the meal and the time together. Still not fully understanding the growing attraction he felt towards Sherlock, he did become increasingly more comfortable with allowing himself to stand closer, come up with acceptable reasons to touch him or hug in gratitude whenever the opportunity presented itself. He liked the new aspect of their relationship. It was nice to do things together that didn’t involve dead bodies.


	7. So, you and Mycroft ?

John had taken a month off from the clinic to heal, spending a lot of time in the flat. Much of it alone as Sherlock was trying to dig up leads on Moriarty. By the last weekend his cabin fever was bordering on insanity. He needed to get out of the house. Finding his mobile he shot Lestrade a text.

up for a pint? I’m suffocating in this flat.

Greg had responded almost immediately.

God yeah I could use that, Sherlock has been driving me bonkers all day. 8pm?

~~

As the beer started flowing, it didn’t take John long to remember what he had been wanting to grill his friend about before his accident. 

 

“So, you and Mycroft eh? It’s mind boggling to me mate, I thought you were straight? You had a wife?” John asked.

 

“There’s more than black and white in the world John, I’m bisexual always have been. Aren’t you?”

 

“What? As in you like men and women? But you married a woman? I don’t understand.”

 

Greg laughed “What do you think bisexuals never settle down with one person because they are attracted to both sexes? It’s no different than being straight and finding that one woman who you keep, the fishing pool is just twice as big.”

 

John considered this a moment until his brain found its way back to what Greg had asked “Now hang on! Why do you think I am bisexual?”

 

Greg’s face went a bit pink and he emptied his glass before speaking “Oh come on man, the way you look at Sherlock? Christ, I’d give anything to have someone look at me that way. Can you honestly sit here and tell me there isn’t attraction there?”

Sherlock’s bare wet chest and the desire touch him flashed into John’s mind. He stared into his pint. “Well…” he started. “I guess I am trying to figure all that out to be honest.”

 

“Seriously? You mean you haven’t been pining after him all this time? Good grief the first time I met you I thought the only reason you were tagging along after Sherlock was to get your hands on those cheekbones.” Greg couldn’t believe he was hearing this. He was sure they had been already sleeping together for years, guess he had lost that bet. “Hey Sherlock is hot!” the inspector defended seeing the surprise wave across John’s face “I noticed, then noticed his older sibling” he added with a blush and a smile John had never seen on his friend.

 

“I still can’t believe this; I thought for sure relationships of any kind weren’t Mycroft’s area.” The doctor emptied his glass and called the bartender over for two more.  
“Yea well you know better than me there’s a hidden side to the Holmes boys, and it’s deep and powerful and once you get pulled in there’s no escaping. It’s hardly a trivial thing, being the one person that matters.”

 

This final statement had a powerful effect on John. He felt like a curtain was lifted to reveal a whole other world behind it. Sherlock letting John in, letting him become his one true friend, the entirety of their relationship scattered before him in a new light. All this time he was the one person who mattered to Sherlock Holmes and he had never appreciated the enormity of exactly what that meant. “I can’t believe I’ve never noticed this before. Oh god. Do you think... Do you think he knows? Like is he aware of it? He is rather oblivious to emotional relationship human nature things after all.”

 

Greg shifted on his stool, looked around the pub and wouldn’t meet John’s face, he suddenly felt quite uncomfortable. Unable to find an escape he realized he needed to answer his friend “Uh well you see John, god if he finds out I’m telling out this I will never hear the end of it.” He took a swig of his beer before he continued “After your wedding Sherlock was a wreck, I have never seen him in such a way. I came home one night to find him drunk or high or lord knows in my flat, pacing around my kitchen. He seemed frantic, his clothes were a mess and his hair looked like he had tried to pull it all off his head. ‘I’ve lost him Jeff’ he said to me ‘why couldn’t I make him stay? Why did he have to leave me?’ he grabbed my shirt front and shook me trying to entice a response out of me but I had no idea what on earth to say to console a distraught Sherlock Holmes so I just stared at him. Such loss and sadness was in his eyes and across his face it pulled at my heart.” Returning to his beer he took a moment pondering over what else he knew. He decided John needed to hear it. “Now I am not going to go into details about this, because Mycroft WILL have me arrested or worse for divulging our private conversations, but I will say that his brother has expressed to me how he has never known Sherlock to be so captivated with another human being before. He instructed me to keep a close watch on him after the wedding, he was quite worried about him, in Mycroft's own way of course. Sherlock hardly left the flat, thankfully Mrs. Hudson kept a steady supply of biscuits and tea available to sustain him. He slept all the time, wouldn't take cases. It was bad." 

 

John had no idea, granted after the wedding he didn't see Sherlock for a time but he didn't think it was because of this. “I broke his heart.” It made John sick to say it.  
“Sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but yea you did mate." 

 

John tried to imagine a heart broken Sherlock and naturally turned to his own experiences with that pain for comparison. He slammed his mug back on the bar. "Well he broke mine too! Pretending to be dead for two years for Christ's sake! The bastard let me GRIEVE! All I did was get married." John was practically shouting but he didn't care. 

 

"I don't deny that was awful, but death is different isn't it? Final. There is no hope of being able to see them again, talk to them again, touch them again. Which is devastating yes, but you eventually accept it." the inspector took a swing of his ale "but when someone leaves you, chooses someone else over you, you have to live with the knowledge that they are alive and well and perfectly happy without you. Kissing someone else, laughing with them, arguing and making up with them. Every day you wake up and know that they chose to not be with you. Now for most people you eventually move on from that too, find someone else fall in love again. Like me and Mycroft. I never thought I'd get over my wife leaving until I found myself in his arms." Greg's cheeks flushed as he continued "but Sherlock? No, he wouldn't let go, he wouldn't open up again. To him it's only you, and he would live forever with the torment of you leaving him." 

 

John sat mouth agape. He felt sad for Sherlock and guilty for popping off about him faking his death. After all he did tell his friend he forgave him, and forgiveness doesn't mean you bring the issue back up when you're mad. He sighed and rubbed his neck. He recalled the runway when Sherlock was about to be banished and the overwhelming panic he had felt inside. 'that's what Greg is talking about, having to live knowing they are out there but not in your life any more. The constant curiosity if they are okay, thinking about you, dreaming about you.'John sighed. "I was so relieved when the plane came back and Sherlock's exile was reversed, I think it would have driven me mad to know he was out there but not being able to see him, protect him." 

 

"Exactly." Greg ordered them another round and they sat quietly together staring at the telly but neither actually watching the game. He glanced at his companion, there was so much worry and concern all over the doctor's face. "But hey he appears to have forgiven you, you’re getting on thick as thieves these days it seems, what with the taking Sundays off together and all the baking he does for you.” Greg wanted to turn the conversation back to the present. 

 

It was true John thought, and it dawned on him that's exactly what it’s all been about; the domestics, the outings together, the hugs. Sherlock didn’t want John to leave again. He felt lifted up by a wave of affection at the effort Sherlock was putting in to keep John happy.  
“You all right John?”

 

“Yea" a smile spread across his face " I mean sure this is heavy. I’ve just found out that my flatmate, my best friend is… what? In love with me? And has been all this time, and I’ve been completely unaware of it. Though looking at things now it’s so obvious and thinking about it in this way how could I describe how I feel about him in any other way?” John emptied his glass. This night was supposed to be about getting all the dirt on Lestrade and Mycroft, instead he got a whole bagful on his own life. “It’s just a lot to process. Twenty minutes ago I was wrestling with confusing attractions for the man I live with, now I know he has feelings for me that, I not only didn’t think he was capable of, but I that I may have in return.” He glanced at his watch, he was surprised to find out it was so late, he finished his drink.

 

Greg clapped his hand on John’s shoulder, and reassuringly squeezed. “Better to know though right? Man this night took a turn eh? I was expecting to have to dodge the full gambit of questions about my new relationship" John laughed and turned to stand up “Seriously, I came here planning to grill you about it, but yes I'm definitely glad to know and have realized I’ve had what I’ve been looking for sitting right in front of me this whole time and I was unable to see it simply because he’s a guy. I have no idea what I am going to do next however.” The doctor chuckled as he put his coat on. “But it won’t be telling Sherlock about our conversation though don’t worry” he added quickly seeing the look of concern on his friends face. Greg stuck out his hand for John’s and smiled “You’ll figure it out, and I’m here if you need to talk.” John grabbed his hand and pulled the inspector in for a hug “Thanks mate, be seeing you.”

 

Out in the street a light rain was falling, he saw a cab coming down the street but decided against it and started off walking home. John flipped his collar up, which naturally brought someone else to mind. His tall mysterious detective. Mmmm those cheekbones, porcelain skin. He imagined himself having reached over to stroke his long neck in the hospital, cupping his hand around Sherlock’s head... 'Oh god get a grip John' he told himself 'this is not the place for that train of thought' He sighed and looked around. The city was beautiful. The street lights illuminated the mist and created a fog about them which the wet roads reflected back. There was a light acoustic music coming from somewhere but otherwise it was quiet and John felt as though he had the city to himself. 

He wandered the streets and felt warm inside in spite of the rain. He was the person that Sherlock cared for, out of everyone in the world; it was him, John Watson that had found his way into the consulting detective’s heart. However Sherlock wasn’t exactly going to win any prizes for warmth and compassion towards his fellow man, would it even be possible for him to be in a romantic relationship? This thought stopped John in his tracks ‘You’re out rightly considering a romantic relationship with a man. Maybe Lestrade is right; I am bisexual; at least wise for Sherlock anyway.’ As he stood there frozen in the rain a man came around the corner under an umbrella. ‘Well goodness knows if Greg can have a functioning relationship with Mycroft surely Sherlock can do the same. He has always seemed to have more human qualities about him than his brother.’ The rain started to pick up as another cab came down the street, hailing this one John headed back to Baker Street full of anticipation and hesitation. ‘What on earth am I going to do now?’

As the cab pulled up in front of 221B John’s heart was beating so fast he could hardly hear the cabbies request for his fair. His palms were so sweaty turning the doorknob was less than easy and he thought his shaking muscles would never carry him up the stairs into the flat. Stopping outside their door he took a very deep slow breath to steady himself. ‘Sherlock has no idea you know these things now, he has no idea you may be feeling the same way. There’s no reason to be so nervous, you don’t have to talk about anything or do anything tonight. You can take time to figure this all out.’ John coached himself, taking a second deep breath before squaring his shoulders back and walking into the flat.

“Sher…lock?” His voice cracked and broke saying the name, his nerves were showing in spite of his attempts to calm down. Clearing his throat he moved into the kitchen and called again “Sherlock are you here?” No response. Standing right outside his flatmates door he reached out for the handle but stopped ‘if he is in there, there’s every chance he is asleep at this hour and therefor undressed in his bed. I don’t think I can handle seeing his bare skin right now.’ He leaned forward slowly and placed his ear to the door. Soft slumbering breathing sounds met his ears, he remained still listening and battling with an increasing desire to find out if his friend was in fact wearing pajamas or not. ‘Okay just a quick peek then’ and the doctor placed his hand on the knob. Turning it as slowly as possible to not make any sound John cracked the door open the tiniest bit, but it was too dark to see anything. He would have to open the door more to let the light from the kitchen in. Still moving incredibly slow and not daring to breathe he pushed the door open further. 

The detective was face down sprawled across the bed, with one leg bent up and his arms wrapped around a second pillow. He was only wearing pants. Tight pants that hugged his buttocks most delightfully. The soft kitchen light splashed across his pale toned back and slightly damp curls were stuck to his forehead. John felt the desire building up inside him to have contact with the bare skin in front of him. The ache of need in his chest. The pull from his abdomen to climb into the bed, run his hands across the pale ribs. To bend his face down to rub his cheeks into the toned shoulders. John realized he still wasn’t breathing and exhaled rather forcefully He flinched at the noise it made, afraid he would wake Sherlock, but it didn’t. He stepped out of the room and slowly closed the door behind him. He sighed and leaned back against the door. He was in trouble. He had it bad.


End file.
